nt I was unable to recall where I was, or on what errand I had come. Then

cause for apprehension could be seen. I was the only cre

y on a light-well, and the blank walls beyond gave back the cheery

ed my mind, a dash of water refreshed my body, and

venture below, but I had been right in trusting Mother Borton. Then I began to realize that I was outrageously hungry, and I

sted my efforts. The key had been missing when I closed it, but a slid

s an additional precaution as I slept. But how was I to get out? I hesitated to make a noise that could attract attention. It might bring some o

ed again more vigorously, but only silence followed. The house m

ayed me false, and was I now a prisoner to my own party for my enforced imposture, as one who knew too much to be left at large and too little to be of use? On a second and calmer thought it was evidently folly to bring my jailers about my ears, if jailers there were. I abandoned my half-formed plan of breaking down the door, and turned to the window and the light-well. Another wi

sash cautiously, but its creaking protest seemed to my excited ears to be loud enough to wake any

m appeared absolutely bare. Gaining confidence at the sight, I threw t

I gained my feet, prepared to face whatever was before me. Then I

d for a long time, and dust and desolation lay heavy upon it. A dark stain on the floor near the window suggested to

way, and I found myself in a dark side-hall between two rooms. Three steps brought me to the main hall, and I recognized it for the same through which I had felt my way in the darkness of the night. It was not improved by the daylig

eassuring me, served as a threat. After my experienc

om I was anxious to evade, for there would doubtless be a barkeeper and several loiterers about. It could not be avoided,

r-cautiousness tripped and came down the last three

ugh the open door, and was stricken col

d seen scattered about were gone. There was no

with the echo of an untenanted house. The bar and the shelves behind it were swept clear of the bottles and glasses that had filled them. Dust was t

hl, the walk in the darkness, the scene in the saloon, the encounter with the snake-eyed man, the riot, the ru

n the whole house that held a trace of furniture or occupancy must be the one from which I had escaped. It seemed t

y my watch it was close on nine o'clock, and Doddridge Knapp might

hat led from the stairway to the street was fastened only with

. The fresh air of the morning was like wine after

ggestion of the familiar, and it appeared somehow to have been turned end for end. I had lost my sense of direction. The hills were where the bay ought to be. I seemed to have changed sides of the street, and it

o swallow a cup of coffee and a roll, and once more mounte

d and thrown aside in a fruitless search. This was a disturbing incident, and I was surprised to discover that the door into the adjoining room was ajar. I pushed i